An Empty Memory
by adventuresinstorybrooke
Summary: It was all in Emma's head. AU one-shot where she never went to Storybrooke; it doesn't exist. How did this happen?


_It was curious how empty the hallway was. _Composed only of sterile lines, it wandered endlessly forward, with hardly a soul in sight. No sound erupted from the walls except the echo of two pairs of footsteps, tapping rhythmically along the reflective tile floor. No object blocked their path, no person stopped them to exchange kind words, not even their shadows accompanied them. In fact, there were almost no shadows at all, just the overwhelming brightness of the lights and their reverberations off the stark white walls.

"Ms. Johnson. Ms. _Johnson._" The man voiced firmly, calling the woman back to the present.

"Oh, yes, sorry. You were saying?" The young woman responded hollowly, her mind clearly somewhere else. She followed a single crack on the tile with her eyes, as it meandered freely along the floor, and she wondered how long it had been growing, stretching out, and branching off into other cracks. And it had all started with something as simple as a footstep that split a weak spot in the floor. The _catalyst_.

The supervisor kept his swift and commanding pace as the pair clipped onward. They moved with great purpose and yet their destination never seemed to be any nearer.

"Yes, as I said, you were listed as the next of kin. You're Ms. Swan's sister, are you not?" His dark eyes searching the his clipboard for confirmation.

_Sister._ Hardly. She hadn't seen Emma in years. "We were with the same foster family during her last year in the system. I suppose I'm really the closest thing she has to family."

If you could even call it that. The woman had been just sixteen when they were thrown into the same house, both equally aware of how unwanted they truly were. But she had found some light in the fact that she had someone else to be there for her. Being older, even if only by a year, this other girl would look out for her; they would look out for each other. How ironic that the situation never did become two-sided.

She had received the call not too many days ago. A stoic voice had uttered a few words, calling her to visit this girl. This _woman_ whom she hadn't seen in ten years. The woman who had left her behind not long after turning eighteen and being dropped from the system. After all that she had done for her. But Ms. Johnson was a forgiving woman. Loving, kind, and always waiting for the day when Emma would call. This particular call was not exactly what she'd had in mind, and second-guessed whether to go, but in the end had decided that her friend needed her. Whether she wanted it or not.

Like a sudden breeze, a thought came to her. "You said on the phone that her condition had changed? Sir..?" She added, feeling compelled to give this unknown man some higher form of respect.

"Has she really been in here long enough for that to have happened?" She asked.

"Unfortunately, her time with us has been short and her condition has only worsened in the few months that she has stayed a patient. Your sister, Ms. Johnson, is very quickly drawing herself into a whole world that we fear she may never emerge from. We hope that you might be able to help." Despite the man's empty tone, Ms. Johnson could almost sense a pleading cry of urgency. Whatever world this was, it couldn't be good.

"When Ms. Swan was admitted she was at least able to communicate, to share her world with us. That line has since been severed," he explained.

_By Emma herself, of course_, she guessed. But one question had yet to be answered, and it was crawling along her consciousness.

"What exactly is this world?" she asked.

"Ms. Swan has invented a world, almost a form of consciousness, in which she believes that there is a town in Maine called Storybrooke, where fairytales reside in real life, blissfully unaware."

"_So Ms. Swan, explain to me again how such a town is possible."_

"_It's _Emma. _And it's possible because it's really there. And if you people would just let me out of here I could show you. I was there, I was happy. I had real friends, and you took me away. So if anyone should be explaining it should be you._" _Emma sat back in the chair, feeling the suffocating office pressing on her, but she refused to show her distress. Instead she kept a blank expression, erring on the side of cocky, and folded her hands behind her head, almost to show that she had control. She was the sheriff here, not this psychology student with a notebook and pen with teeth marks on the end. _

"But _where_ would something like this come from?" Ms. Johnson wondered aloud. Emma had always been a calm and solid person. She was strong and coped better with her life than anyone she knew.

"This is likely just a mechanism to fight a buildup of hurt and fear from her difficult childhood. This world is more or less her _wall_. This wall keeps out the realities of life. For example, the fact that she is alone. In this _world_, she has family. Even parents," the suited man emphasized the last phrase, hoping to convey the depth of the roots of Ms. Swan's delusions.

Ms. Johnson's head flicked toward him, her dark brown hair moving with the motion, "Her parents…." she spoke with question. "And who does she think they are?"

"_I have her chin. My mother's. I honestly didn't believe him, but looking back, there were so many clues. And I forgive her of course. She did it to save me. She loved me, she does love me, but I was their only hope. He told me that." Her eyes full of happiness, of hope, reflected the artificial light toward the young man on the couch across from her._

"_And who told you this? Who is this 'he'?" He pressed, carefully._

"_Henry."_

"Ms. Swan believes that her parents put her in a magical wardrobe, soon after her birth, and sent her to this world to save them. From the curse of an evil queen." Each time he spoke, his voice grew sterner and more urgent.

"But," Ms. Johnson's mind was flashing in all directions, "how are they here in Maine, then? And _save_ them? This is insane."

The man quickly turned and faced her, his expression suddenly harsh. "You must not attempt to argue with Emma's world, Ms. Johnson. Each time we have made attempts, she has only fallen further into it. The key is to work slowly with her, to ask questions, discover her logic. Look for a doorway into what's keeping her inside her head. We thought it was her parents up until now but are beginning to lose ground." He paused.

"Emma Swan believes that she is destined to be the _savior_ of this town. Of these people, these fairytales. And somewhere, there is a link between something real in this world and this place within her mind. Some link that has become distorted and is altered in her reality."

"_No! You can't go! You have to bring the happy endings back. Your family needs you. I need you." She murmured, staring out the frosted window, looking into some non-existent place. _

"_Emma. Who…" the new psychologist began. He was older, more experienced. They believed he could help. He had believed it once, too. But the weeks had driven by with no change._

"_I know you don't believe in me. But I believe in _you_," she uttered, her throat catching in a whisper._

"_Emma," he tried again, "who is talking to you?"_

"_Henry." She spoke quietly, mulling over each syllable. "Henry. I have to save him. I have to break the curse."_

"Henry… Henry!" The young woman gasped. And then her heart broke in two.

"Ms. Johnson? Do you know something? Who is Henry?"

"_Emma, you look fine…. really." She exuded from her perch on the edge of the bed._

"_No I don't!" She exclaimed with a sigh. Emma stood in front of a floor length mirror, which was almost within an inch of its life. The cracks and faded frame paired with the layer of filth on its surface made it difficult to see anything in its reflection, but it was enough to display her protruding stomach, and therefore cause complaints._

"_I don't own anything that fits anymore, my face is puffy—not to mention my feet, hips, and basically everything is swollen—and he won't give me a break. He's either kicking or hiccupping. Non-stop. This kid is going to be such a handful." She shook her head, almost smiling and sauntered back to the bed, rubbing her stomach and enveloped in thought._

_She sat down and with a rush of air, the cheap mattress compressed another few inches. Much to her dismay. "See? Even the bed thinks I'm fat." She fell back, defeated._

"_Emma… it's just the baby doing all of this. You'll go back to normal once he's born…"she offered._

"_Rach… Thanks, really, but how would you even know? You're only seventeen, it's not like you've had a baby before." She smiled at the girl and tilted her head. Rachel was so young, but she had this air about her that made her seem so mothering. But Emma was eighteen, an adult, she didn't need a mother. She _was_ about to be one though._

"_Do you think I can do it? I mean, seriously do it. Raise a baby? Alone?" Emma turned her head back to look at the ceiling. _

"_Not alone. But you have me. When I said that I would stay. I meant it," Rachel grasped Emma's arm when she began to move away. "I'm serious, Emma. I won't leave you. Besides, why _wouldn't_ I want to stick around to see you attempt to change my nephew's diaper?"_

"_Nephew?" Emma asked, her eyes lighting slightly._

"_Yes, nephew. I don't care what records say, you're my sister. And therefore, THAT," she said, pointing to Emma's abdomen, "is MY nephew."_

"_Well in that case, I could use a back rub. This kid is wreaking havoc on my spine," Emma retorted with a laugh._

"_How on Earth did you jump to a back rub? What about the mushy family stuff huh? I know you just _love_ it," Rachel drawled sarcastically, scrunching her face at the other girl._

"_Hey, it's your sisterly duty."_

"_Fine, sit up."How could she not give in?_

_Rachel kneaded softly up and down Emma's spine, and the two sat in silence. Her thoughts drifted and she soon was in wonder of how they had gotten to where they were in that moment. Even back when Emma had come home talking about this mystery man who 'made her feel something' and how 'older men were the way to go' she knew it would end badly. But never did she expect to be living in a dirt cheap run-down apartment with a single bed, having finally run away from the system to be with her now pregnant foster sister. Who was about as loving as a rock. But she had faith that they could do it. Together. _

_When Emma had told her that she intended to keep her son, Rachel finally felt like she had a family. Herself, her sister, and a baby. And that baby _would_ have a better life than either of them had. She would make that happen, no matter what it took._

_Suddenly Emma flinched and leaned forward._

"_Oh is he kicking? Can I feel it?" Rachel asked with excitement._

"_No it's..OW!" She cried._

"_What is it Emma?" She said coursing with fear. Something was clearly wrong._

"_I don't kn.." And she cried out in pain again. Her face twisted, her eyes welling in the corners. _

"_Something's wrong. Can we go to the hosp.." She said as she began making her way to her feet. _

_But before Emma could stand up straight another wave sent her cripplingly to the floor; with another cry and a face of tears._

"Henry…. Oh god." Rachel whispered with sadness in her expression.

"Henry was the name she chose for her son… she was only eighteen... but he came too early, the doctor's said he didn't even have a chance."

* * *

_The two young girls laid on that bed, not three days later, but the air was different. Rachel's sleeping figure was pressed against Emma's back and her hand laid still where it once had been stroking the blonde's hair softly. Emma's face was nothing but a shadow pressed halfway into her pillow, wet with the pain she never knew that she could feel. She hadn't spoken since it happened, and hadn't even left the bed since they returned home. The hurt never stopped and she always felt like she was falling._

_She couldn't even look at Rachel. They had both lost the last thing that was keeping them together. She would probably want to leave now. She didn't have a reason to stay. But Emma could at least leave first, to save Rachel the pain of choosing to do so._

_Without warning, Emma stood, gathered some clothing, her small keepsake box, and a small box of her prized possessions. She left some cash on the dresser with a note that read 'for the rent' and walked out the door without looking back._

_And she had no reason to look back. Henry was gone, her baby was dead, her only family. She knew that she could never love anyone again. And she continued walking, out into the crisp air of the evening, still clenching the last connection she had to any sort of love; a white knitted blanket, the blanket she was found wrapped in, with her name woven into the corner with purple ribbon._

**I hope you enjoyed it. This story was inspired by a gifset by wistfulwatcher. It was such a beautiful idea that I had to develop it. Please let me know what you thought. And if you have an idea for another one-shot or story please tell me. I've been meaning to get my foot back in the door of the fanfic world, but just haven't found the inspiration (and had to create a new account because I've forgotten all my old login info :/ ). You can also find my OUAT-exclusive blog here: .com. I love you all for reading.**_  
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